


In All My Dreams I Drown

by butterflyslinky



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Conditioning, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Instability, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know what’s a dream…and what’s a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All My Dreams I Drown

**Author's Note:**

> “In All My Dreams, I Drown” is performed by Jessica Lowndes.

File 29C: The Spoony Experiment

 

Purpose of the experiment: To harness strong emotions into an energy source. In this trial, the emotion “hate” is under consideration.

 

Method: Subject was put into a medical coma and then hooked up to the machine that both controls his subconscious and harnesses his emotions (see File 29B.) The subconscious was controlled to project an average, but miserable life. Subject was subjected to painful memories and then forced to encounter the people he despised most.

Subject is a white male of approximately 35 years of age. Subject is in generally good health, with a minor heart condition and medicated bipolar disorder. Subject has no living family or close friends. Subject was selected at random and brought to the facilities without his knowledge.

Subject is unaware that his perceptions and experiences are not the truth.

 

Results: Subject’s hatred was strong enough to power a small generator. However, the mental strain on the subject proved to be too stressful for his heart and the experiment was stopped. Subject has been left at the facility and is still asleep. His subconscious is still broadcasting the hate program.

Given the stress on the subject, we must declare the Spoony Experiment a failure and recommend that the machine be destroyed and the subject be left alone until life support fails, as his mind has been damaged beyond repair.

 

Signed,

Dr. Wayne Schulmper

Dr. Cochran Block

Dr. Coquette Tease

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I work as a writer for a magazine. I hate my job.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I am single. I hate women.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I play video games in my free time. I hate Final Fantasy XIII.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I see a movie every week. I hate summer blockbusters.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I have a family dinner once a month. I hate my mother.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I am normal and well-adjusted.

I hate everything.

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I am happy.

Hating things doesn’t make me unhappy. It’s normal. It’s nice. It frees me from the responsibility of being kind.

Some people worry, so I see doctors often. Doctor Block is nice. Doctor Tease is even nicer. But they always make me see Doctor Schlumper whenever possible.

They say he can make me better. But there’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need to be made better.

This is the life I’ve always dreamed of. The life I’ve always wanted. And while I hate everything, it all seems to love me anyway.

What could be wrong?

*

File 29C Addendum

Upon arriving at the facility, it was found that the machine was still running, though nothing seemed to be powering it. Subject was still alive and upon looking at the readings on the machine, he still exhibits signs of brain activity.

The program in the machine has stopped. Subject responded to basic stimulus. Upon suggestion, the program in his subconscious radically altered.

Given these findings, the experiment will continue with new emotions suggested to the machine.

 

Signed,

Dr. Linkara Lovhaug

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I hate everything.

Maybe I’m just the type who hates everything naturally. But I don’t want to.

Or maybe it’s because of what happened when I was a kid. When my mom locked me in the asylum. When I went to prison as a teenager.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I want to fight this, but I can’t.

I don’t even know if I ever really hated these things or if I just thought I did.

It doesn’t feel real that I hated everything. It feels more like a dream. Or a story I read. Or something someone told me.

I haven’t seen the doctors in a long time. Maybe that helps. Maybe when I stop talking about why I hate things, I stop hating them.

I’m done fighting with everyone. I’m done hating everything.

It’s done and over.

Time to start again.

*

There’s a new doctor. His name tag says “Doctor Lovhaug,” but he asks me to call him Linkara.

I give him the facts I know.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

He laughs and marks that down.

He’s nice. Cute, even. I know right off that I don’t hate him.

Upon seeing him, I want to fly. Or run away with him. Or at least take him out for a drink.

So I ask. And he laughs again. He says he’s flattered, but I’m his patient. That would hardly be appropriate.

So we talk about why I’m there and how I feel and my mother and my job and the games and movies and everything else.

I don’t hate at all after talking to him. That means he’s better than the others, but it also means I can’t ask to be given to someone else so I can date him.

Maybe I’ll get better soon. Then he can be my boyfriend.

Then I can finally love someone.

*

File 29C Addendum

Subject is responding favorably to new programming. Given the stress levels brought on by the hate program, it has been decided that it would be best to erase his memory and start over with more positive emotions.

 

Signed,

Doctor Linkara Lovhaug

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I am empty. I feel cold.

That’s it. Just cold.

Maybe I’m dying. Or maybe I was never alive. It doesn’t seem very important.

I just cling to the two things I can depend on.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

My name is…

My name is…

My name…

“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old. You write for a magazine and are pretty good at your job. You see your mother once a month and you are devoted to her. You play video games and watch movies and they’re all okay. My name is Linkara and I’m going to take care of you.”

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I am starting over.

I like my job. I love my mother. I appreciate games and movies. I am in love with a man named Linkara.

I like my job…whatever it is.

I love my mother…whoever she is.

I appreciate games and movies…if games and movies exist.

I am in love with a man named Linkara.

That’s what he told me. And if I’m in love with him, that means he’s in love with me. And if he’s in love with me, that means what he tells me is true.

I feel happy. I feel content. There’s no pain. There’s nothing bad. And I know what I’m supposed to do.

I am in love with a man named Linkara. And that means I do what he says is right. He knows what’s best for me, even if I don’t think it’s right.

I do what he says. I do what he says.

It may seem stupid. It may seem bad. But I do what he says, no matter what. Because I don’t know what else to do.

I am in love with a man named Linkara.

I like my job. I love my mother. I appreciate games and movies. I am in love with a man named Linkara.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

*

File 29C Addendum

Subject has taken conditioning well. Minor changes will be made to examine the effect.

Subject is responding to physical stimuli. While he is still unconscious, it is possible that he can recover.

 

Signed,

Dr. Linkara Lovhaug

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

Nothing hurts. I think it used to, but it doesn’t now.

Linkara makes sure of that. He always has, because he’s always been here. I remember him being here, from the very start.

I told him I hurt, once. But he told me it was psychological. That I was fine, really. And he was right. He’s so much smarter than me.

He makes sure I’m okay all the time. He loves me. He touches me softly. I lie with him at night, and he’s perfect. He’s good for me.

He tells me he’s good for me.

I know he is. I know he loves me. I know I love him.

But I don’t feel anything.

And that’s perfect.

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

This isn’t right.

I don’t know why, but I know something is wrong.

I question whether Linkara really loves me, or if he simply tells me that so he can do what he likes with me.

I thought love was something to be felt, not known.

I don’t feel anything.

He’s doing something to me. He’s molding me. I know he is. But whenever I try to bring it up, he tells me I’m being silly. It’s always been this way. It’s meant to be this way.

Then he takes me to bed and makes me forget what I was thinking about.

He’s in my head. Always in my mind. It frightens me.

But then I see him again, and he tells me he loves me and I love him, and I know he’s right.

I know he’s right.

So why do I hate him when he’s not around? Why do I not feel any love for him when he isn’t right there loving me?

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

And that’s all I can be sure of.

*

File 29C Addendum

Subject is beginning to show signs of free will. Either the program is malfunctioning, or his mind is stronger than suspected.

The program has been rebooted and the subject’s memory has been wiped. He now lives a normal life in his subconscious under the control of an imagined lover.

Subject still shows signs of resistance. More extreme measures may be required.

 

Signed,

Dr. Linkara Lovhaug

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

My name is not Spoony. I am not thirty-three…

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

NO!

My name is…

NO!

My name…

NO!

“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old.”

It isn’t. It isn’t. I’m not Spoony anymore. I will not be Spoony anymore.

“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old.”

NO!

“Say it!”

No.

“Say it!”

NO!

“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

*

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what’s really going on.

I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what’s in my head.

I don’t know anything. I don’t know! I don’t know!

It wants me to be someone. It wants me to remember things. It wants me to feel a certain way.

I can’t remember what it is. I just know it frightens me.

I know I hate it.

Whatever it is, I have to escape it.

It’s coming. It’s always coming. I keep running, but it’s always right behind me, like it’s a monster in a horror movie.

Maybe it is. Maybe this is just a nightmare. Or maybe I’m in a horror movie and I’m just waiting to get the axe.

I don’t care. I just know I have to escape.

I don’t know who I am. But I do know one thing.

I am not Spoony.

*

File 29C Addendum

Subject has shown more resistance than usual. The machine has been reprogrammed and the subject’s memory was erased.

Subject now lives as a model member of society. His emotions are at a flat zero. All flaws have been eradicated.

Subject is now fully unconscious once again, but it is uncertain how long that will last.

 

Signed,

Dr. Linkara Lovhaug

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

And I am insane.

I know I am. Everyone says I am. I wish that could change.

I know I did something bad, though I can’t remember what. I need help.

There’s a man called Linkara. He’s here to help me. He’s going to make me better.

He’s going to make sure I’m like everyone else. After all, insanity is believing in what everyone else says is false.

_I hate him._

But I know he’s right. I know I’m the bad one. I know I’m the one who’s done wrong.

I try to live as a good man. But I can’t. Not when I’ve messed up so badly.

I don’t know what it was. I just know it was enough to make this happen. I know that they’re better than me…

_They aren’t better than me, they’re all hypocrites, they don’t know what they’re talking about. I know I’m right, I know this is wrong, I know this is insane, I know, I know…_

_This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real._

I’m getting better. I know I don’t deserve it. But I’ve been given a second chance, and I’ll take it.

_They hate me. They’re trying to destroy me. They’re trying to make me into nothing. They aren’t perfect. They’re horrible. I won’t be one of them! I won’t! I won’t!_

Linkara has done so much to make me better. He’s made everything right again.

_I hate him._

I love him.

_I want to kill him._

I want to protect him.

_This is wrong!_

I want to take him out of here.

_I can destroy him. I can end this. I just have to fight. I just have to be strong._

He says I’m fascinating. That he wants to know everything about me. He wants to explore me. And I let him. I let him take care of me.

_I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM!_

He comforts me when I scream. He makes sure I don’t get hurt.

_I will win! I will destroy him! I will kill him!_

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

_I won’t be Spoony. Not now. Not ever._

_And he will pay._

*

Dr. Linkara Lovhaug: Personal Log

It’s not real.

It doesn’t have to be real.

It never had to be real. It just had to be nice.

And it is nice now. It’s perfectly nice.

He’s mine. All mine. Fully and completely.

And he’s never going to leave me. Not now, not ever.

I can mold him. I can change him.

I can control him. He’s mine, my pretty little toy. Everything I’ve ever wanted.

He doesn’t know much, but that’s okay. I don’t want him to know anything. I just want him to be nice and quiet and obedient.

That’s why I signed up for this experiment. That’s what I’ve been doing.

Making him into a perfectly blank slate, whatever I want him to be. Something for me to love that will love me back.

Maybe I’ve been a bit harsh. Maybe I’ve gone a bit crazy doing it. But it’s worked. He’s now completely empty. His thoughts, his dreams, his feelings, his everything belong to me.

I’ve created him. He’s perfect. He’s mine forever.

No one ever needs to know what I’ve done.

*

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

And I am about to die.

I know this world is real. I know, because it hurts so much, both mentally and physically.

I am lying on a hard cot, hooked up to life support, and there’s something attached to my head. Something that shows my dreams in perfect color and resolution.

The man I’ve come to know as Linkara in my dreams is sitting beside me. He looks down at me with sad, empty eyes.

“Your name is Spoony,” he says.

“I know.”

“You are thirty-three years old.”

“I know.”

He takes a breath. “Do you know what’s happened to you?”

“No.”

He nods. “You were picked up homeless in Chicago. You were originally going to be jailed for prostitution, but then a team of scientists asked if you’d rather do a psychological experiment instead. You agreed. You were then put into a medical coma and hooked up to this machine. It shows your thoughts, but it also allows other people to manipulate your subconscious and harvest the energy given off by your emotions. You were first put into a dream world where you hated everything, and your hatred was the fuel source. Unfortunately, the psychological strain proved too much and the experiment was stopped.”

“So why am I still here?”

“When I came to shut down the machine, you were too far immersed in the dream world. If I had tried to pull you out, it could have destroyed your mind entirely. So I instead decided to ease you out of it. I changed the worlds you were in, erased your memory where necessary, and let you fight your way through the dreams. And you did. Admirably.”

I think for a moment. “In a few of those dreams, we were lovers.”

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t at all real?”

He smirks. “There was some physical stimulation. It probably carried over into your dreams.”

I understand. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

We’re quiet for a minute. “So what now?” I ask.

“Now, you’re going back to sleep.”

“No.” I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to dream, I don’t want him to be able to manipulate me and mold me and make me into what he thinks I should be.

He looks down. “You don’t get a choice,” he says. “Because this time…when I say sleep…I mean forever.”

I can’t sleep forever, I can’t sleep another minute, I have a life to live and lovers to meet and worlds to see and…

And I know I can’t. I know that the machines all around are what are keeping me alive. The moment they’re turned off, I’m done.

“Please,” I say. “Isn’t there another way?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could save you…but I can’t. And it will be easier if you sleep.”

“I can’t.”

He looks at me a moment, then leans in and kisses my mouth gently. “You can,” he says.

He walks over and presses a few buttons. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t think…

But he’s there, and he’s holding my hand, and I remember that in the dream, I did love him at least once.

So maybe it’s okay.

My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.

And I am no longer dreaming.

*

File 29C Addendum

Subject was declared dead at 02100 hours. He briefly regained consciousness, during which time he expressed anger and sadness at his fate.

He never once knew his real name, or where he really came from. Everything he remembered came from the dreams or from information he was given before his passing.

His emotions in the last few days harnessed enough energy to power to entire building, along with a few neighboring homes. It is interesting to note that positive emotions generated nearly twice as much energy as the negative ones.

Given these results, I must declare the Spoony experiment a complete success and I urge that the machine be kept and used for further experiments in mind control and renewable energy.

The body of the subject will be disposed of discreetly and with dignity. All records of his existence have already been erased.

 

Signed,

Dr. Linkara Lovhaug.

*

_My name is Spoony I am thirty-three years old. My name is Spoony I am thirty-three years old. My name is Spoony I am thirty-three years old._

_My name is…_

Heartbeat. My heart is beating.

I can breathe again. I can still feel his hand on mine. I don’t seem to be hooked to the machines anymore.

My eyes are open. I can see him, and he’s still with me. We’re in a different room now, one not surrounded by wires and machines and sound.

“Linkara?”

“You made it,” he says. “You’re alive.”

“But…I thought…”

He smiles. “I put you back to sleep,” he explains. “A dreamless sleep that time. Then I wrote my report, sent it to Washington, and brought you back here. You no longer exist. As far as everyone else is concerned, you’re dead.”

“But…why?”

“It was the only way I could save you,” he says. “The only way I could keep you.”

I pull my hand away from his. “So what are you going to do to me now?” I ask.

He gets up and goes to a corner. He pulls out something large, something covered in a blanket, and wheels it over by the bed.

“I had time to study the blueprints,” he says. “Time to build my own machine.” He pulls the cloth away. “Don’t worry. You won’t always be in here…just when you need reminding of who I want you to be.”

“But…”

I can’t move and he’s over me, hooking me up to the machine. I scream, but there’s no one to hear me, no one to save me…

“Good night, Spoony.”


End file.
